


Girls Are for Fun, Guys Are for Business

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-05
Updated: 2009-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girls are for fun and guys are for business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls Are for Fun, Guys Are for Business

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

Title: Girls Are for Fun, Guys Are for Business  
Author: [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
Series: Supernatural  
Pairing: Sam/Dean, OMCs/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: Some underage content and some dubious consent.  
Summary: Girls are for fun and guys are for business.  
Word Count: 3468

  
Dean chases after girls like a buck in rut. Just like a wild animal, he could no more help himself than he could stop the damn sun—he needs this. He’s also aware of his family’s disapproval—of Dad’s exasperation and Sammy’s annoyance—but they’ve got to understand. Yeah, he can’t stop himself, and maybe he does appear single-minded but really, he only does it in his free time. It’s not like chasing girls is all he does. He knows that the job comes first; it always comes first. He doesn’t let a girl interfere with a hunt, because, really, a job’s no place for a girl.

Dean chases after girls because that’s what he does when he’s off work. Everyone’s got to have a hobby, right?

Protecting Sammy’s a full-time job and then some. With all the trouble the kid gets into? It’s amazing Dean has any free-time at all. So Dean figures he deserves the little R&R when he can get it. Because that’s what the girls are there for—a little bit of fun in his off-time. They’re not a job or anything—not his main focus.

Girls are for fun.

But guys are for business. Dean doesn’t chase after guys in his free-time.

The first time it happens, Dean’s fifteen and Sammy’s a too young eleven but neither of them have been kids for a long time. Especially not Dean.

The first time it happens, the rent is overdue and Dad has been missing for 12 days straight. The landlord damn near pounds down their door before Dean finally answers to have the guy demand two months worth of money that Dean doesn’t have. Dean looks down at Sammy’s scared eyes and gives it some thought. He considers putting the landlord off and then ditching as soon as the guy’s back is turned—except that would leave them MIA when Dad gets home so it isn’t even an option. Besides, Sam likes this school—he’s even made a friend—and Dean wants to make him happy. He thinks about stealing some money but this really is a hick town and the sheriff already has it out for Dean as it is. There really aren’t many options to think about, Dean realizes.

So when the landlord eyes Dean up and down with an oily smirk, Dean meets him a strained smile. And when the man says, “I’m sure we could work something out…” Dean doesn’t say no. He doesn’t have the option.

Instead, he puts his hands in his back pockets and rocks his hips forward while he says, “I’m sure we could.” The man’s eyes light up like Christmas has come six months early.

Dean ends up standing naked in the apartment’s scummy living room, his toes curling in the disgusting carpet, while the apartment’s equally scummy landlord fondles his junk and calls him pretty. The man’s touch makes Dean’s skin crawl but he forces himself to hold still and take it. If this is what it takes, then this is what it takes. Dean can do this.

Sammy’s locked in the bedroom under strict orders not to come out until Dean says and hopefully he’s got his hands over his ears. Poor kid doesn’t need to know what has to be done—that’s Dean’s job, after all. And Dean’s real good at his job. Nobody could accuse him of being otherwise.

If forced to admit it, Dean would say it really wasn’t that bad but after he’s done, Dean still wants to puke. He wants to just hit his knees and hurl all over the guy’s snakeskin boots but he doesn’t. Instead, he forces it down and gets down to business. He hammers out a deal with the guy—Dean’s good at that—and the “service” ends up worth last month’s rent and an extension on this month.

Dean spends the next two days dreading the guy trying to welch on the deal or maybe demanding ‘more’—more bang for his buck, so to speak—but then Dad shows up. When they skip town an hour later without paying any of the rent—current or back—Dean doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, he puts the whole damn thing out of his mind besides giving himself a pat on the back for his quick thinking and his business skills.

The second, third and fourth times, well, they’re like that too. Except for maybe a little less touching and a little more sucking on that third time—but who was Dean to complain if somebody wanted to give him a free blow job? The guy got off on sucking teenage cock and Dean figures it's an even trade. The fifth time, though, that’s different.

Sammy’s thirteen and being picked up for a shoplifting charge which is really fucking ironic considering it’s _Dean_ who’s been shoplifting. Dean is the one that’s pocketed two packs of batteries, five candy bars, three new lighters, two gas station watches, and a bottle of Coke. Sammy’s just been loitering, standing around reading the magazines. It'd been fucking TIME, too, and just who does that?

So Dean ditches his stuff in the alley behind the dumpster where he can claim it later and pounds down the pavement after the cop, hurrying to make it before anything can be called in.

The cop blinks at Dean’s proposition, throwing his head back, but Dean can see the repressed interest in his eyes. “Did you just offer to bribe me, boy?” the cop growls.

Dean cocks a hip, confident grin on his face, and pushes his jeans down a little bit more—enough to expose a glimmer of skin under his short T-shirt. “No sir,” he says, coating the words in a facsimile of respect. “I just offered to give you the best damn blowjob of your life if you agreed to let my little brother off from what we both know is a bogus charge.”

The cop’s torn—with lots of guilt over being so and arguing with himself—but Dean still ends up on his knees in the alley, licking his way into the guy’s pants. Sammy faces the brick wall and pretends he’s deaf.

Afterward, when the cop’s stumbling back to his cruiser, dazed and guilty as he zips his pants and tries to fix his uniform, Dean wipes off a stray bit of jizz from his chin. He’s got to learn to swallow better if he’s going to make this work at all. Or at least get better at ducking. Guys seem to like it better when he swallows, though—maybe it’ll work better if he just gets used to the taste. But Dean’s telling himself ‘good job’ anyway and already putting the incident out of his mind when Sammy whispers, “You didn’t have to do that, Dean.”

Dean glances up. “Yeah I did, Sammy.” There isn’t a choice here and looking at Sam’s face, Dean knows that it is worth every second, too. Sam says nothing, turning away and staring hard at the ground. Dean gets to his feet and swings an arm over his brother’s shoulder as he steers him back to the dumpster where Dean hid the shoplifted goods. Sammy’s been a good kid—he deserves some candy. Also, frankly, the cop’s spunk tastes absolutely foul and Dean needs to get the taste out of his mouth. He cracks the top of the Coke and takes a swig, washing it all down. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, though. Anything for Sammy.

After that, it doesn’t happen again for awhile but Dean makes sure he goes out and gets some practice because it’s part of his job. So when it does happens again, he’s more than ready. He even gets used to the taste—gets real good at swallowing and doesn’t even need a Coke afterward.

In his free-time, Dean chases girls. They’re easy catches with soft bodies and no demands. There’s nothing to worry about because girls are just for fun.

Dean knows his father doesn’t feel the same way that Dean does—that he may be able to _understand_ Dean’s rather mindless pursuit of girls, but he doesn’t necessarily condone it. “Waste of time,” he says once when Dean asks if he wants to join Dean at the bar. But Dean knows that his dad appreciates the type of girls Dean goes after—that Dean knows enough to keep everything strings free. Dean only messes that up once but he really thought she was different.

For John Winchester, girls aren’t for fun. Neither are boys. Every person, to him, is just merely a means to an end. Dean learns that when he’s ten and comes to find Dad screwing the store manager of the local Sears. The next day, Sammy and him have brand new shoes and the Impala has a brand new set of Craftsmans in the trunk. “You do what needs to be done,” Dad always says. Dean knows he means that in every sense of the word.

The first time Dean ever sees his father bend over and take it, Dad's buying the truck. It’s a nice truck. It just costs a little too much.

The former owner fucks Dad against the driver’s side door, all soft whispers of “Yeah, like that?” and “Fuck, so damn good...” while Dad just takes it. Neither one seems to realize that Dean is watching. Or maybe they just don’t care. Dean still occasionally wonders if he got a black light if he’ll be able to see anything. Which is just silly considering how many hunts the truck’s been through now—all the blood would cover everything up.

The easy way Dad accepts it, though, how he moans and enjoys the fuck out of it, Dean knows it’s far from his father’s first time. He’s got to say that it’s a bit of an eye-opener.

The next day, Dean has a pocketful of cash, a different way of walking, and a new secret he’s never telling Sammy.

Dean manages to keep a lot of things from Sammy, actually. For years he continues along with his job, doing business and Sam stays safe and protected and, most importantly, _innocent_. Until Des Moines. Fucking Des Moines. Dean hates big cities—they’re really nothing but trouble. Give him a small town on a stretch of endless blacktop any day.

Sammy’s seventeen and suspected of an arson he didn’t do but the two cops aren’t about to believe that the pixies did it. Dean’s well aware of that. They are willing to believe, though, that the circumstantial evidence of a now unknown teenager being in the area when the building just happened to burn is not particularly relevant. Especially when Dean drops to his knees and takes both on at the same time, letting them jerk his head back and forth while he licks each one like a lollipop. One’s completely convinced when he comes all over Dean’s face while the other needs a little bit more. Dean lets the guy bend him over the back end of the cruiser. Jeans around his ankles, Dean spreads his legs as wide as he can get them and puts on the best show he can.

Sammy watches it all, jaw clenching, though Dean really wishes he’d turn around. If he could face the wall again like he did when he was thirteen, that would really work out well for Dean. There’s nothing wrong with what Dean’s doing but it upsets Sammy so Dean wishes he wouldn’t watch. Sam likes being angry, though, so he glares holes into all of them.

Afterward, they jump in the Impala and get the hell out of Des Moines, the city fading behind them as the car pushes 95. They make it all the way to Missouri before Sam finally demands that they pull over and Dean agrees, stopping on a two-track off a backroad to call Dad. Dad’s angry but he doesn’t ask details and tells them to just find the nearest motel and stay put. Sam’s glaring at Dean when Dean finally hangs up.

“You didn’t have to do that, Dean,” he says and it’s like he’s thirteen all over again, except angrier. Should have faced the damn wall.

Dean gives him the same look he did four years ago. “Yeah I did, Sammy.” Maybe since Sam was older now, he’d understand.

But Sam doesn’t understand and he’s not letting it drop this time. “No, Dean,” he states, plain and clear, “you _didn’t._ ”

Dean doesn’t know what the hell Sam’s problem is—he never jumps this hard on Sam’s case when Sam’s trying to do his homework or something. “Dude, I just kept you out of _jail_.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Sam shoots back, fists clenched, “you just _prostituted_ yourself to some scumbag cops!”

Dean shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Everything worked out, Sammy.” And he’s not prepared for when Sam slams him back against the door. “Dude! What the fuck!” He tries to shove Sam off, but Sam’s not having it and gives him a shake.

“Never again,” Sam orders, invading Dean’s space. He’s close enough that Dean can feel his breath. It’s warm and it’s got a hint of mint. “Don’t you dare! Ever!” He shakes Dean again and Dean grips Sam’s wrists in self-defense. “Don’t you dare…” Then Sam kisses him.

Dean’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in surprise so Sam sticks his tongue in. Sam kisses Dean like he’s making a claim and Dean’s so confused, he just lets him. When Sam moves his hands under Dean’s shirt though, Dean moves past just letting him into accepting it. He closes his eyes and goes with it because Sammy apparently needs this. Anything for Sammy. He’s more than a full-time job.

Sam fucks him in the front seat of the Impala, Dean braced between the back of the seat and the steering wheel while Sam pants above him. Sam jerks him off hard and fast as well and Dean comes with a muffled groan, splattering on to the shirt he’d put over the seat. Sam whispers, “Dean…” and spills into the condom that had formerly been in Dean’s wallet. Afterward, Sam refuses to shut up until Dean swears never to prostitute himself again. Dean still doesn’t understand what the big deal is but he wants to make Sam happy.

The next few months are a little shorter on cash than Dean would like but he doesn’t let Sam know. He doesn’t have the extra ten bucks for pizza anymore and most times he skips lunch just so Sam doesn’t catch on at dinner. It’s easy to hide not eating when Dean’s away at the shop or Sam’s at school—it’s not so easy to hide not having any food when it’s supposed to be set out in front of somebody. Dean doesn’t mind, though. He wants to keep Sammy happy—safe and protected and happy. If this is what it takes, then Dean will never eat lunch again.

And then comes that stupid letter. That stupid fucking letter.

Sam and Dad fight—which is usual nowadays but this time it’s even worse—and Sam storms out. Dean follows and begs on his knees for Sam not to go. He got Sammy’s jeans open and his face in Sammy’s crotch but Sam pushes him away before he can finish. He tells Dean that this is wrong and that he’s sorry. Then he asks for forgiveness with tears in his eyes. Dean stares up at him, not understanding—Sam still wants this, he can see it—and Sam just repeats that he’s sorry and that Dean doesn’t deserve him. The bottom of Dean’s heart drops out and then Sam picks up his bag and leaves. Just fucking leaves.

It’s the first time in a long time that Dean bothers to cry.

For a long while, Dean wonders what he did wrong—how he drove Sam away. In the end, though, he realizes that it really doesn’t matter. He’s still got his job—it's just gotten more difficult because it’s hard to protect Sammy when Sam’s at school and so obviously doesn’t want to see Dean. It hurts too, to know how Sam feels but Dean ruthlessly crushes that. It doesn’t matter how Sam feels about Dean, only that he’s safe.

Sam doesn’t flunk PLS 118 because Dean lets the professor fuck him on the couch. The tweed is scratchy and a spring pokes at Dean’s knee uncomfortably but he takes it. The professor runs his hands over Dean’s body—anywhere and everywhere—and whispers how he ‘just can’t believe it.’ Sammy just thinks he got a lucky break—that’s what he tells his friends at the restaurant the next week when he brags about his D turning into a B. Dean really wanted to get him an A, but, well, there was helping Sam out and then there was going overboard.

Between the job and Dad and protecting Sam, Dean doesn’t have much free-time anymore. He almost forgets how. So when he gets the chance, he pursues Cassie with a simple-minded zeal, making himself his most utterly charming and forgetting to hold that little bit of himself back. He forgets why girls are just for fun. When his heart gets broken and he’s reminded of why no strings are a good thing, he makes sure Sam gets a good deal on his first apartment—only $500 a month including utilities with no money down—and then hooks up with Dad and throws himself into the hunt.

Around December, Dean remembers to make sure Sammy gets a good grade on the class that’s been stressing him this semester. While he’s on his back on the desk getting plowed by a doctor of French literature, Dean closes his eyes and keeps himself focused. He makes sure he comes and that he tells the guy that he’s amazing but he also makes sure that Sam’s final essay is worth 494 points out of 500. Sam’s pleased with the results, high-fiving the black guy that he took the class with.

Dean eventually stops counting how many times it happens. Once he even gets fucked by a small town sheriff in the station house to bail Dad out of jail. The cop takes him right up against the bars, pushing Dean against them while Dad watches. It’s a little disturbing but the guy obviously gets off on it and Dean’s not going to say anything. When he gets let out, Dad stares long and hard at Dean, swallows a few times, and nods. Unlike Sam, Dad understands. Dean smiles back and they head to the next hunt.

And when Dad goes missing, Dean knows he won’t be able to find him on his own—not and still have time to protect Sammy. It’s got to be one or the other or he’s got to combine them somehow.

It’s really kind of pathetic how happy Dean is to be allowed to talk to Sam. Dean isn’t too hard on himself, though, because, in his defense, it’s been a long time and he loves his baby brother. Dean will even take whatever abuse Sam has to throw at him because at least it means that Sam’s still standing in front of him.

They hit the road and Sam doesn’t show the same kind of interest in Dean that he did four years ago, so Dean figures that Sam doesn’t need it like he used to and checks that part of the job ‘complete.’ Sam’s apparently been satisfied elsewhere. Dean’s not happy but he’s not disappointed, either. It was just another aspect, after all.

They don’t find Dad for awhile but, with Sam right beside him, Dean’s got a lot more free-time on his hands. Which is good, because he was thinking that he deserved a little bit of a break. He’s been working really hard, lately.

So it takes him by surprise when, a year later, before Dean can finish sucking off the informant that’s gripping his hair, Sam grabs him roughly and hauls him up. He shoves the guy away and slams Dean up against the wall as he yanks down Dean’s jeans. Sam fucks Dean against the hard surface, pressing Dean’s face against it while Sam works his way in. The informant watches them with a dropped jaw but Dean’s too concerned with trying to keep his face out of the bricks. He thinks the guy runs away about the time Sam starts growling things like “Goddamn it, Dean” and “you fucking slut” and “Mine.”

Dean relaxes around Sam and lets him take what he wants. Anything for Sammy and this is just another part of the job. The possessive tone of Sam’s voice is sending shivers down Dean’s spine but he decides not to think about that.

It could be Dean’s imagination but afterward, it seems like he has a lot less free-time than he used to.


End file.
